


Walk Me Home

by orphan_account



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Smut, Song fic, a small amount of crying, i wrote this during COC for the song prompt and didnt post it on here, simon traces baz and he literally melts, they end up happy, this has angst but its solved and they end up kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:40:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22341193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Baz is driving him and Simon home after an argument. Song is played (it's Pink!), voices are heard, feelings are had, kissing insues. Just a lotta feelings and fluff.Song is Walk Me Home by Pink! (I know! It's suuuper cheesyy but when I first heard it I just thought of them.)
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 17
Kudos: 107





	Walk Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic ever! Warning is just kissing and some mentions of arguing (just light premise, really. not too much to worry about, folks.)

**Baz**

Snow is facing the window with his knees curled up to his chest. I'm driving through way too little cars at this time of night. It feels too quiet- too odd for London. But I suppose 2 am is a bit late. Or early.

It feels like there's this incredible gap between us. I'm not contributing to it much- I'm driving- but he's facing so far away from me. He's pressed so close to the door; practically hugging it. I'm not really sure when he stopped trying to make it not seem deliberate. I'm surprised he hasnt tried to bolt through the window yet.

It's too silent. Too silent for what we just did. What we're both thinking. Which is why Simon, probably more uncomfortable with this silence than I am, leans over and turns on the radio.

**Simon**

I turn the radio on and at first its just immediate static. I slump back in my seat- I'm fine with static. It's better than dwelling on the distance between us right now. It's too loud, too quiet, and all I want to do is reach out and touch him. Touch his neck, his wrist, _something_. But I know I'm not there yet. I won't be there for a while. I haven't been for so long, I think he's stopped hoping for it. He's mad at me, I'm mad at me. We argued. I'm supposed to be mad at him too, I think.

I'm mad. I don't touch.

A few seconds later, the radio suddenly cuts into a pop song. I swear, it changes so fast, it's as if it's been spelled. For a second, I suspect Baz did it, (I obviously didn't), but he wouldn't choose this one. It's a tad too upbeat, and it doesnt feel right for the aura amongst us, but neither of us make a move to change it.

_There's something in the way you roll your eyes-_

**Baz**

_Takes me back to a better time_

Crowley. I think I preferred the disgusting static, if I'm being honest. This is way too upbeat and dramatic. I feel as though I'm drinking a kool-aid with far too much sugar, or watching a episode of _My Little Pony (_ Mordelia likes watching it with me and playing with her blocks in the background whenever I visit. She doesn't end up watching it- I think she just puts it on because she thinks _I_ like it. I haven't the heart to say I don't.) It's sickening. It makes me feel all sappy and melty, and I don't like the transition from emotions so fast.

_This conversation ain't coming easily_

Snow and I don't change it. I wouldn't dare. It makes me feel. . .

I don't know how I feel.

It's at that moment he decides to then reach up as if to change it, like he can read my mind, and place his fingers on the 'tune' knob.

If he can read my mind? The _audacity_.

' _Don't_ ,' I hiss, my eyes not wavering from the road. And yet, I can feel his questioning look boring into the side of my face.

I try to school my tone back to normality. We just snapped at each other for the most of the last hour, we don't need more reckoning. 'I quite like this song, Snow. Don't change it.'

He's still looking at me quizzically. 'I preferred the static.' He hasn't moved his hand.

'Me too.' I feel like I should elaborate. I don't know why I choose not to. 

He raises his voice, just a little. Just enough for me to notice. Most wouldnt, but I do. I always do.

'Then why on _Earth_ -'

'I don't want it changed, Simon!'

I think it's because I don't want this mood changed; a certain flare of hope. From a song, I know, is quite idiotic. I just don't want to risk yelling or hurting anyone anymore. White noise is a good defense. I don't tell him that. He doesn't ask.

'Okay, okay. Okay.' Defeat.

He returns to his slouched position, but he seems to be a little closer now, and he isn't bent against the door anymore. I don't think it's intentional. Exhaustion maybe. Closer to the tune nob, just in spite.

  
**Simon**

_Walk me home, in the dead of night_

I don't know why he doesn't want the song changed. It's such a lifty song and _definitely_ doesn't match the mood. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, on his end.

I'm a little closer to Baz now. I think I can feel the air around us change? It feels like magic, but it doesnt feel like ours.

I don't know if I feel the air change. I'm going bloody bat-shit, is what.

I think Baz is, too. A fucking Pink song! And he likes it? He said he likes it.

I listen for a minute. (I haven't got a choice.)

  
Do _I_ like it?

_Cause there is so much wrong, going on outside_

**Baz**

_There's something in the way I wanna cry_

I'm starting to suspect this song mightve been spelled on, but I have no idea who would be around to do it. I don't know who would feel their magic needs to be used on useless shit like this. On making me feel this. I feel. . .

I still have no idea what I'm feeling.

Does Snow feel it, too?

**Simon**

I just. I just want to. Maybe just reach over. Just a little. Let him know I'm here.

Well of course he knows I'm here. I'm the one that demanded he drive me back after we started yelling. After _I_ started yelling. We wouldn't be here if we- if _I-_

I mean-

He doesn't want me to.

But I-

He-

_We_ -

No. I can't.

But,

I just.

I just want to kiss him.

I just want to hug him and tell him I've been so wrong lately.

Lately? Try the past year.

I've gone way passed the point of redemption.

I'm too unforgivable at this point. There's too much. I don't know why he's still holding on to this- to us. I know he doesn't want me like I want him.

We don't talk anymore. There's a mutual acknowledgment of this sort of thing now. He makes me soup, I don't eat it. He tells me to get up, I don't respond. He tells me he loves me, I yell at him to leave. He comes back, I don't apologize until he's fast asleep and can't hear me. He knows I feel bad.

Does he know?

He should know.

_You've never said-_

I've never had to.

_Of course you've had to. He's not unbreakable._

He's not unbreakable.

He's just a human.

Well...

He's just....

He's just a boy.

Baz is just a boy.

We don't-

We can't-

Well...

He doesn't want us. I feel like we're both just too scared of what will happen if we let go.  
We don't give up. He's too stubborn and I'm too clouded.

But right now.

I just want to kiss him. **Kiss it better** , maybe.

He doesn't want this. He doesn't even touch me unless I tell him to, anymore. Not like I tell him to, anyway. He's too scared too look at me, to see what I'll do if something happens or snaps.

  
I'm scared, too.

  
I have to _tell_ him to _touch_ me.

_Crowley. . ._

  
_If he didn't want you, why is he still here?_

Pity.

_And why on earth would he do that?_

These thoughts don't feel like my own.

_They aren't._

Okay, okay.

_I think that we could do some good_

Okay.

**Baz**

He looks at me for what seems like forever. He seems so lost in thought.

_What are you thinking about?_

And then. Then. He reaches up and touches my wrist. So, so lightly, it's like he's touching butterfly wings. As if he's not even there. Like I'll tourch him. Like he'll tourch me.

He won't. He still can't.

He's touching me so soft, I want to melt into him. I hope he can't tell I'm screaming.

_Don't stop, please, don't stop. I couldn't handle it._

It's so slight, barely there.

But it's there.

He's touching me like he's not allowed to.

I'm not sure he is.

_Touch me more_

We've just had a screaming bout, and I'm his ride home, and he hasn't voluntarily touched me in _months_ , and I'm telling him to touch me more.

  
In my head, mind you.

Do I just love being hurt?

_You just love him._

I don't.

_Did you really, seriously, truly just say that?_

I wait a beat.

_Basilton?_

Go away.

_Did you?_

Another beat.

No.

We have fifty more minutes in our drive. He's still looking at me. And I can't remember the last time he tried so hard to make eye contact.

So of course I look at him.

_And why?_

I'm too fond of self-destruction.

_Wrong answer._

Why can't I pull away?

_You know why._

I can't be this anymore.

_Be what?_

You know what.

_Why are you still being it, then?_

I don't think-

_Don't lie to me._

Because I love him. And I'd cross every line.

**Simon**

He looks at me.

Oh man, he looks at me.

He's looking at me. I'm looking back.

I think I understand now.

Am I allowed this?

**Baz**

'Pull over.'

He's speaking so warily, I'm expecting him to yell.

'Hmm?'

It appears I'm too spaced out to use my voice. Splendid.

Is he going to yell?

My wrist is still in a soft grasp.

'Please?'

Maybe not.

* * *

  
I pull over into some bush on the highway stretch a few minutes later as he watches me the whole time, him still holding my wrist. A little firmer than before. I'm not sure when the radio cracked out.

I clear my throat. 'Snow,' Thank Crowley. I thought I'd been too scorched to use my voice properly. 'What are you doing?' Please don't answer that. 'Do you need to use the l-'

  
And oh. He brings my wrist up to his chin. And he's softly; so softly, kissing my palm.  
And it's so subtle. And its so foreign. And it's so nice. And I'm not thinking anything. I'm thinking everything.

And _oh._  
 _oh. oh oh oh._

I understand now.

**Simon**

I told myself I wouldn't burn him, but it's hard to think I'm not when he's literally melting in my hands.

It's hard to think I'm not going to when he's acting like I will.

I won't.

My brain is cooperating with my body, for once, I think. I bring my other hand up slowly to meet his cheek, and I think he might be fondue. He's like a kitten. He might be purring.

I don't think he wants this.

**Baz**

Can vampires purr? Because I think I'm doing i-

_ohhhh_...

Stupid mushy brain, good for nothing tosser. Why can't you function? 

_oh, please. . . ._

**Simon**

Oh. He likes it behind the ears.

He _definitely_ likes it behind the ears. 

Good to note.

Maybe I can get a few more seconds of this. To tide me over. To keep me sane for now, until we can get back here. I don't know how I lasted so long. I don't know how I am now.

When can I get back? When will you let me?

_When will you let yourself?_

**Baz**

I want to kiss him. The urge to reach over and touch him just as gently, shake him, ask him why he doesn't let me, is way too strong.

So, of course, I don't.

'Snow,' I croak out.

This is just as bad.

**Simon**

He sounds so wounded. I hear his voice crack ever so slightly, so I pull away. Just like he usually does. _Is this how hard it is for him, usually?_

I can see he's trying so hard to cover himself up. When did we get so unexposed? How can we have lasted this long while being so scared of each other?

_He's scared of me._

I try to back away, but there's a window and a door.

**Baz**

He's backing away from me.

Don't show him this.

_Why not?_

Stop hurting me.

_I'm not the one hurting you._

When did I get so scared of him?

_It's not him, either._

Why can't I have this?

_You can._

When will he pull away?

The voice doesnt answer anymore.

**Simon**

'I don't want to hurt you.'

I don't even realize it's me saying it until Baz looks at me like I'm something on the bottom of his shoe.

'Yes, Snow, I'd hope you assulting my palm was any fair indication.'

And there he goes. The mask. Are we back to this?

_Stop_.

'Stop it,' I'm whispering. I don't know if I want to be. 'Just stop.'

I don't know a lot of things.

His eyes go slightly wide and I feel as though he might attack me. I'm not so sure as to when I stopped feeling so scared of his reactions. I'm not sure I was ever scared of him. I've just been scared of myself.

_There you go._

He waits a while.

'I don't want you to hurt me.' He snaps into place. He drops.

He's just a boy.

'I'm not going to.' Im down to lower than a whisper. I can hear every thought of mine.

'I can't handle it.' He's whispering now, too. He was never much good at it.

'I can't either.'

_'I can't_ , Simon.'

'We won't.'

'I _can't_.'

'Baz,' I reach out for his hands and untuck them from underneath his thighs. He sits on them when he's nervous. Holding them together, I bring each one up and kiss his veins.

'Simon?'

'Im here.'

His cheeks are redder now, and have track marks down both sides. The wet on the back of his hands that he brought up to his face a second ago stings my thumbs as I swipe my thumbs across his knuckles, and I know it's salt water. But I'd know that from his face.

'For how long?'

**Baz**

I don't know where to look at him without him breaking me into pieces and inspecting my cracks.

I hate how vulnerable I am.

I feel too open all of a sudden, and the radio's stopped. When did the radio stop? Who stopped it?

It's just him looking at me now.

So I, the insufferable bastard I am, look right back at him. And I feel myself breaking open a little more.

And this time it might be okay.

'Forever.'

He isn't going to yell.

Can I ask him to touch me?

Can I tell him I love him without him yelling?

This time, it might be okay.

'Can you kiss me?'

This time. It's okay.

**Simon**

I had settled on the idea of kissing him when the music stopped, but I don't remember how long ago it was.

We've stayed like this, for a while. Or maybe just a minute.

Before I do, (kiss him, that is), I trace my fingertips along his arms and along the edge of his collar, brushing his neck with the tips of my pointer fingers. He shivers. His skin is smooth like cold, white bedsheets, and his cheeks feel like soaked paper. _I've done this_.

My left hand travels up to his cheek, wiping the saltwater away and moving slowly to his earlobe. I fold my fingers. His body shudders again, and his eyelids remain closed. They closed a while ago. My right pointer finger moves up and brushes from across his eyelid (softly. I endulge in his eyelashes) to his nose, and leaves a tracing just down it. It's slightly crooked, and too high up on his face. _I did this._

My fingers both move up to smooth down his brows and temple, and they make to tuck his hair behind both ears, sweeping it all behind his shoulders. Its gotten longer, fuller. Never any less silky. Never any less beautiful as before. Jet black, elegant. It used to sway across his face in such a way before he punched me, back in fifth year. I started to remember the sway of it, just so.

It's stayed still for a while now.

Both my hands track back to his neck, clinging as lightly as possible to the sides and mounting his jaw with my thumbs. Im rubbing slightly, and he's still shuddering. _I'm doing that._

This time, it's okay.

* * *

**Baz**

We don't stop until around two hours pass and we've both moved to the back of my car as we stay like this, well-spent and breathless.

My shirt is somewhere in the messy combination of Simon's old take-out boxes alongside my various travelling-through-state pamphlets and books, and _his_ shirt stays hanging on the window's ledge.

Simon Snow is on my chest, and my fingers are stroking through his tumbled hair down to his freckled shoulders and back. I spent a good twenty minutes simply kissing and caressing each one, watching him shiver and react. Sometimes he'd make this noise in the back of his throat and whisper my name. Sometimes I'd say his just because I could.

His hands are running along my sides, down to my lower thigh along my jeans, and back up again, only breaking the pattern to reach up and look at me, through me, before kissing me softly until I'm breathless, and resuming the pattern. Im sure we've taken a while. Every touch was- _is_ \- delicate, exploring, admiring. Nothing below anything else. Everything a whisper, nothing above. Nothing a question. Everything a question. Nothing too much.

Nobody should suspect anything much from our absence- we often move from each flat of ours to the others' frequently, and it usually takes a good amount of time to drive. Well, not frequently.

Whenever Simon got up off the couch. Whenever I got the courage to try and get him to.

This time, it's an okay type of up.

I hear Simon speak in a soft voice, but it's muffled by my stomach. I feel his breath tickle my skin, and take a moment until I know I'm able to to respond

'What was that, love?' I haven't stopped the hand-in-hair motion.

'Will you walk me home?' 

'We're a half hour away from home, Simon.'

'When we're a few blocks, then. Walk with me?'

'I was planning on coming up like usual anyways-'

'Will you?'

I kiss his hair, and I muffle an 'I love you' into his scalp, my hands dotting along his back.

He giggles. It's the most glorious sound. 'What'd you say?'

I kiss him again just to hear it once more, and then repeat: 'Of course.'

I'd cross every line. Every word. Every block, I'll cross.

**Simon**

'I love you.'

'What was that, love?'

I love you. _I love you, I love you, I love you._

I _love_ you.

'Will you walk me home?' 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I encourage comments if you'd like to leave some :^)
> 
> song mentioned is Walk Me Home by Pink!


End file.
